All day Tchetchevitsin avoided the girls, and, if he met them, looked at them askance. After tea in the evening he was left alone with them for five minutes. To remain silent would have been awkward, so he coughed sternly, rubbed the back of his right hand with the palm of his left, looked severely at Katia, and asked:
“Have you read Mayne Reid?”
“No, I haven’t—But tell me, can you skate?”
Tchetchevitsin became lost in thought once more and did not answer her question. He only blew out his cheeks and heaved a sigh as if he were very hot. Once more he raised his eyes to Katia’s face and said:
“When a herd of buffalo gallop across the pampas the whole earth trembles and the frightened mustangs kick and neigh.”
Tchetchevitsin smiled wistfully and added:
“And Indians attack trains, too. But worst of all are the mosquitoes and the termites.”
“What are they?”
“Termites look something like ants, only they have wings. They bite dreadfully. Do you know who I am?”
“You are Mr. Tchetchevitsin!”